


The Kids Are Alright

by DragQueenCas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slurs, Work In Progress, babysitter!cas, college!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragQueenCas/pseuds/DragQueenCas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on an ask on tigerboydean's tumblr.<br/>“Anonymous asked: Dean moving back home from college after dropping out because he has to raise his 4 and 16 year old brothers, Adam and Sam, after the death of his dad. Cas is Adam’s regular babysitter and Dean can’t afford to pay him but Cas does it for free because he loves Adam and Sam. Dean being stressed because of bills but Cas helps him out. They fall in love.”<br/>... yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A familiar sound broke the stillness of the night, rousing Dean Winchester from his sleep.

The room was cast in darkness, the only light being that which was blaring from the screen of his phone in accompaniment to the shrill sound of his ringtone. He hurried to answer before his dorm-mates woke up and complained.

“This better be good,” was his gruff greeting to whoever was on the other line. The green LED numbers of his alarm clock told him it was 2:43am; far too early for this call to be anything but an emergency, he realised belatedly.

“Is this Dean Winchester?” a kind but serious woman’s voice sounded through the speaker.

“Yes,” Dean answered, voice softer now.

“My name is Detective Jody Mills, from Lawrence, Kansas Police Department,” the woman said carefully. “I’m sorry to say this, but I’m calling to inform you of the death of John Winchester.”

Dean’s stomach dropped, but the woman – Jody – kept talking.

“We need you to come to the station to sort out some things and we suspect you’ll want to see the body before it needs to be buried or cremated. We understand you’re currently living in California at the moment. We can pay for a flight here if you-“

“No,” Dean cut her off with a shaky voice. “I’ll drive.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, before, “Dean, I would strongly suggest you take the flight. The drive here is over twenty hours long, and that’s without breaks. Your brothers are-“

“I ain’t flyin’,” Dean said resolutely, already out of bed and pulling on yesterday’s clothing. “I’ll see you in twenty hours, Detective.”

*

The box of his father’s ashes sat heavily in the passenger seat, seemingly judging him even from beyond the grave. John Winchester always had a way of looking at you like everything was all your fault, and that had not changed once he’d passed.

The car was silent – no tears, no quiet sobs, no asking if dad was coming home.

Sam was old enough by now to know what was happening. He was sixteen, and it looked like he’d had a growth spurt since Dean had seen him last. The teen was quiet, thoughtful, and Dean wondered if he should break the silence and ask if his brother was okay. His mouth stayed shut, something in his gut telling him that no amount of words could make this easier.

Adam was also quiet, staring out the window at the Christmas lights on people’s houses. The youngest Winchester was four, about the same age Dean had been when his and Sam’s mother had passed. He knew what the kid must be feeling, at least sort of.

Adam’s mother had died giving birth to him so he never knew her, but Dean did. Kate was a kind woman. She’d never tried to fill Mary’s shoes, never tried to be something she wasn’t. She had been the closest thing to a mother Sam had ever gotten, and Dean was sad when she passed.

Pulling into the driveway of his childhood home, Dean let out a long suffering sigh. These were not the circumstances he envisioned coming home under. Adam was asleep in the backseat so he asked Sam to carry him inside. He thought it would just be too much if he asked the kid to carry in his own father’s ashes.

Sam dutifully carried Adam upstairs to bed while Dean went into the kitchen. He set John on the kitchen table and looked at him for a few tense moments before going to the fridge. He brought back two beers, setting one next to the box and bringing the other to his lips – a parody of the last time he’d seen his father.

*

It had been Thanksgiving, after all their friends and family had left for the night. John was drunk and Dean was slightly buzzed but he’d grabbed a couple more beers anyway. Sam and Adam had gone to bed not an hour before, exhausted from the day’s activities. The conversation Dean expected to have with his father never happened. He expected to be asked about school, if he’d met anyone special yet. He did not expect John Winchester to look at his son with impossibly sober eyes and ask him a favour.

“Son,” the man started, voice groggy but words coherent. “I need somethin’ from ya. Not money, no, everythin’ in that respect is fine.”

Dean had been reaching for his pocket where his wallet was. John had asked for money before – Sam’s school fees, formula for Adam, help with rent – but a long stretch of time had passed since the last time.

“Dean, I… I’m sick,” the man continued, picking at the label of his beer. “I have liver cancer. The docs said it was from all the smokin’ and drinkin’ and I know they’re right.”

Dean’s stomach had dropped, churning and tilting and threatening to boil over. But he kept his face stoic, knowing John would appreciate his strength and support.

“I’m not gonna last long, Dean. A few months at best. I need you… I need you to promise me something.” John had said the last part real quiet, and Dean nodded, shifting in his chair.

“I need you to look after the boys after I’m gone. I don’t want ‘em to get split up in foster care, not when they could have you. Dean, you’re a leader, natural born. I wrote it in my will already but I wanted to tell ya now so you could be ready. I know it’s a lot to ask, but… son, I wouldn’t ask if I had any other choice.”

Dean, always loyal and wanting to please his father, had of course said yes. Family was the most important thing in the world to Dean, especially considering he had lost so much of his own. It wasn’t difficult to tell his father that he would do it, would come home and take on the parental role as soon as the time came. He just hadn’t expected it to come so soon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's desperate, and in need of a push in the right direction.

During the week following John’s death, Dean hadn’t slept more than three hours a night. He couldn’t, not when the box of his father’s ashes was sitting on top of the mantel piece, staring at him as he slept on the couch. His old room had turned into Sam’s room once he moved out for college. Sam had had to share with Adam before that and Dean had no intention of forcing his brother back into that room. He refused to sleep in his parents’ old room – he didn’t think he could bear the memories that would come with it. 

So he slept on the lumpy old couch, restless and exhausted and unsettled. The stress had fallen upon him as soon as he’d stepped through the door. He needed a job, needed a plan, and he was coming up empty.

The week passed quickly, but each hour seemed to drag by. Sam had school, but because Dean wasn’t working yet, he could stay home with Adam. He hadn’t realised just how much he had to do to keep a four year old entertained all day. While Sam was at school, Dean would try to do some paperwork – bills John had left behind and of course, his will. Adam always tried to ‘help’, ignoring Dean when he asked the boy to play with his Legos or watch TV. As a result, Dean always ended up having to entertain Adam himself, leaving the paperwork unfinished on the desk.

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough, and Dean was relieved when Bobby Singer came to visit on Saturday. Adam had squealed in delight, pouncing on the man as soon as Dean let him in the door. Bobby took it in stride, chuckling and tickling Adam’s sides as he kept moving into the kitchen.

“Have you been good for your big brother?” he asked with an arched eyebrow, setting the boy on the kitchen table.

“Yes!” Adam said obediently, nodding vigorously and swinging his legs where they hung over the edge of the table.

Dean grinned as he watched them interact. He hadn’t seen Bobby since Thanksgiving either, and he had missed his surrogate uncle’s kind blue eyes and knowing grin. Bobby was the kind of man you wished was your father. Stern but kind, and always pulling words of wisdom from his back pocket. He was as much family as any of the Winchesters.

Bobby eventually sent Adam off to watch TV, threatening to bore him with ‘grown up stuff’ before the boy was cringing and running off to the living room, blond hair bouncing on top of his head. Dean grabbed a beer for the man and sat opposite him, letting out a tired sigh. Before he could even ask Bobby how he’d been doing, the man interrupted him.

“You’re not coping,” he said gruffly, taking a swig of his beer. Dean was taken aback, staring at his Uncle with shock in his eyes.

“Bobby, I-“

“Son, you’re not coping,” he said again, slowly and with more force behind his words. “It’s been a week and you’re dead on your feet. How much sleep have you had, exactly? Takin’ care of two boys is hard. Lord knows it damn near killed your Daddy, havin’ three of ya. I’m surprised it was the cancer that did it.”

Dean frowned, letting out a long sigh and dropping his head. He was twenty years old, just about to turn twenty-one, and he already basically had two kids. It wasn’t fair, but neither was it fair on the boys.

“What am I gonna do, Bobby?” he asked, voice quiet and strained, not looking at his Uncle for fear of breaking down. “I don’t have a job, I still have to officially drop out of college…”

“I’ll give ya a job, idjit,” Bobby said gruffly, face screwed up as if Dean’s stupidity was actually causing him pain.

“But what do I do with Adam?” Dean asked, lifting his head from where he was staring at the table. “Sammy’s gotta go to school and I can’t afford day care.”

“Call Castiel,” Bobby said with a shrug, scratching his beard as if it was the simplest answer in the world.

“I’m sorry, who?” Dean asked, frowning in confusion. Bobby rolled his eyes, downing the rest of his drink.

“Castiel, the boys’ babysitter? John hired him about a year ago. Kid lasted more’n a month, which was rare, so John gave him a permanent job. He doesn’t do anything else. Lives with his father a few streets away. His number’s on the fridge. You should give him a call.”

Dean didn’t think he could afford a babysitter either, but he thanked Bobby for the suggestion anyway.

 

*

 

It was the week before Christmas and Dean still hadn’t called Castiel. He didn’t have the money to pay the kid, not when he still had to buy Christmas gifts for his brothers _and_ pay last month’s electricity bill. The paperwork was doing his head in, but at least he’d finished reading through his father’s will. Besides, Sam had started Christmas vacation so it wasn’t too bad at the moment. Dean just ignored the fact that his brother would have to go back in two weeks and then he’d really be screwed.

It was around one on Thursday afternoon. Dean had the day off because he’d worked eight straight days and Bobby was “sick of seein’ yer stupid face”. He’d finally put Adam down for a nap after fighting his seemingly boundless energy for what felt like hours and was just about to plan his budget for the week. A few stuttered knocks on the front door derailed those plans. Dean barely held himself back from letting out a frustrated groan, not wanting to wake Adam after all his hard work, and went to answer the door, scowling.  

When he swung the door open, he was greeted by a pair of startling blue eyes, a mop of artfully mussed black hair and flushed pink cheeks. The guy was dressed in dark jeans and a tacky Christmas sweater underneath his a-little-too-big trench-coat, a dark grey beanie perched on his head far back enough to reveal those gorgeous locks. Dean’s mouth went dry and he quickly schooled his expression, clearing his throat and standing up a little straighter.

“I’m Castiel,” the boy said, unprompted, his voice deeper than Dean would have expected. Castiel looked around seventeen or eighteen, but his body seemed rather small under his coat. Dean was staring and he couldn’t help it. The kid was hot, if a little nerdy, and Dean could honestly say he was nervous to speak.

Castiel shifted from one foot to the other, glancing around nervously before clearing his throat. “I um… I brought pie,” he said when Dean hadn’t answered, holding out a covered dish. “It’s cherry.”

Dean blinked, looking from the dish to Castiel’s face and then back again. “You uh… you made pie,” he said lamely, raising his brows a little. The boy nodded and smiled a little, holding the dish out further. Dean took it carefully and just kept staring. This guy was… odd.

“Do you wanna come in?” he asked after a long pause. “I could cut us a slice each… I’ve uh… been meaning to call, actually.”

Castiel seemed to consider the proposition before nodding once. “I would like that, yes,” he said with a smile, stepping past Dean and leaving the older man with a perplexed expression on his face.

In the kitchen, Dean sat a slice of pie and a glass of water in front of each of them, sitting across from Castiel and trying to think of something to say. He was struggling. He’d never, to his memory, found a boy attractive. Ever. Castiel was just exquisite. Sweet pink cheeks and shiny hair, eyes that seemed to hold universes in them.

“Dean?”

Dean blinked, vision coming back into focus. Castiel was staring at him, one perfect eyebrow arched innocently.

“S-sorry,” Dean stammered, shaking his head. “What did you say?”

“I… asked when you wanted me to start.”

Dean sighed, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his head. He did a quick calculation in his head and knew for sure he’d never be able to pay Castiel even half the amount he deserved for the job.

“Actually, I wanted to call to tell you I… I can’t keep you on.” Castiel tilted his head, a slight frown creasing his pretty little forehead. _No, stop thinking like that, Winchester!_ “I can’t pay you, Castiel. I barely make enough to cover groceries, let alone the fact you’d be here basically all day. I can’t ask you to do this.”

There was a long pause, and Dean felt an embarrassed blush colour his cheeks. He couldn’t help but blame himself. John had asked him to do this and he was failing. It’d barely been two weeks and he was failing. Guilt settled like a peach pit in his stomach – he should never have gone to college.

“Dean?” There came that voice again – deep and sweet and so naïve – and Dean looked up from where he’d been staring at his hands. “I… I don’t need the money. I live with my father. I don’t need to provide for myself or anyone. I want to do this because I know you’re struggling. And besides… I miss the boys. Adam is a sweet kid and Sam… well, he’s been a better friend to me than anyone has in the past year. I want to help.”

Dean was taken aback. He’d always been so terrible at asking for help, and here was this… this angel, handing it to him on a silver platter. He couldn’t speak, choked up with gratitude. By the time he’d cleared his throat and thought of something to say, Castiel’s attention was elsewhere.

A little blur of blonde hair and pink skin raced across the kitchen and attacked Castiel, pulling a grunt and a chuckle from the young man.

“Hello, Adam,” Castiel said fondly, pulling the child into his lap.

“Cas, we missed you,” Adam said sleepily, cuddling into Castiel’s chest. “Don’t go away again… Dean’s not fun like you are.”

Castiel laughed at that, ruffling Adam’s blonde mop of hair and looking up at Dean with a smile that made the older man’s knees buckle. He was silently grateful for the chair he was sat in. Two sets of bright blue eyes were looking at him hopefully, and Dean was finding it difficult to get air into his lungs.

“Cas is coming back, I promise,” Dean reassured his brother, glancing between the boys. “Right, Cas? You can start tomorrow morning?”

Adam looked hopefully up at the babysitter, and when the man nodded curtly, squealed in delight.

“I’ll be here,” Castiel promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew... Sorry for the wait on that one! Thank you guys so much for being patient. I'm hoping to put chapters out a lot more often now that I have a clearer idea of where I'm headed. I hope you enjoy this chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial period.

When Dean came home that next day, he was greeted by an array of noises and smells. Something that smelled like pasta lingered in the air, and Adam’s squeals of delight were only interrupted by the clanging of pots and pans and the sound effects of Sam’s video game. It was a much nicer atmosphere to come home to than the one he’d been greeted with for the past few weeks – solemn, silent, and sullen. The house was alive now.

Stepping into the kitchen, he spotted Castiel sitting at the table with Adam, the pair taking turns at matching cards. Castiel was wearing a different sweater, but it was equally as tacky and festive as the day before. He smiled as Dean came in, and the exhaustion of the day just seemed to lift from the eldest Winchester’s shoulders.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel greeted warmly, making Adam spring from his chair and tackle Dean’s knees. He lifted the boy into his arms, kissing his fly-away hair and moving to sit in the previously occupied chair.

“I made lasagne,” Castiel said as Dean sat down, finishing his turn of matching cards. “I hope that’s okay. I just thought you would be hungry and too tired to want to cook.”

Dean’s stomach growled at the mention of lasagne, and gratitude for Castiel’s concern filled him to his fingertips.

“Sounds great, Cas,” he said with a nervous grin, wrestling to keep Adam from falling out of his lap as the boy reached for the cards. “You didn’t have to do that, though. I was gonna make spaghetti-o’s.”

“Sketti-o’s are yuck,” Adam chipped in, screwing up his little nose in disgust. “Cas makes dinner better.”

Castiel blushed then, looking apologetic. Dean just laughed, tickling the toddler until his face turned pink with giggles.

“I really do appreciate it,” Dean said seriously once his brother had calmed down. Castiel shrugged, as if it was no big deal, and got out of his chair to check on their meal.

“That’s why I’m here,” he insisted, smiling over his shoulder and slipping on an oven mitt so he could pull out the lasagne. “To help you. I’d rather be here than at my place, anyway.”

Dean frowned once Castiel had turned away again, pondering what the boy had just said. Castiel didn’t continue, and Dean, maybe foolishly, didn’t ask. It was none of his business, he decided. He didn’t know Castiel all that well. It wouldn’t be appropriate to ask.

Dean busied himself with setting the table, trying not to linger on Castiel’s perplexing statement. He set four plates, assuming Castiel would be staying to eat, and was rewarded with the babysitter’s brilliantly gummy smile. Why shouldn’t he be invited? He was the one who made dinner, he should eat it.

Dean called Sam in from the living room and the four of them sat around the table together. Dean watched Castiel help Adam cut his food while simultaneously talking with Sam about school and all the homework he’d taken on over the break. The way they all interacted made something in his chest stir, an unfamiliar feeling, and he couldn’t quite place it. He stayed quiet while he watched the boys, all talking and laughing and smiling for the first time since Thanksgiving.

Dean wondered if he could get used to this, then quickly put the thought from his mind. Castiel wasn’t a permanent fixture. He was just helping out. Granted, they weren’t sure for how long, but Dean didn’t want to start to rely on the kid. From what Bobby had told him, Castiel was smart – a straight A student. He would no doubt want to go to college, have his own life. Besides that fact, Dean wasn’t paying him. Even if Sam got a part-time job, they couldn’t scrape enough together to pay Castiel what he deserved.

So Dean sat in Limbo at the dinner table, mind plagued with doubts even as his little brothers seemed happier than they had been in too long. They ate the left over pie from the day before for dessert and Dean sanctioned Sam to wash the dishes while he took Castiel home.

“Oh, I can walk,” Castiel insisted, shrugging into his trench coat. “It’s only a few streets away. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not letting you walk home in the dark, Cas,” Dean argued, voice resigned. “It’ll be quicker and safer. Don’t argue, just get in the car.”

Dean knew he’d win even if Castiel did argue, but luckily, the kid knew what was good for him. He said goodbye to Sam and Adam, kissing the four-year-old’s head and ruffling his hair, before he followed Dean out the door.

The drive was quiet, and Castiel’s house was further away than he’d said. Dean was glad he hadn’t let the boy walk home, especially through the streets that looked more like alleyways, and held back on giving him a lecture.

“I appreciate what you’re doin’ for us,” he said suddenly, interrupting the silence. “It was nice to come home to that. But don’t overwork yourself. I know we’re just trialling you while Sam is still on school break, but I think this could work out. At least, from what I’ve seen. When Sammy goes back to school, you can just stay ‘till he gets home. It’s tough work, lookin’ after Adam, and you gotta have your own life. You don’t have to cook and clean and all that stuff, I just – “

“But I want to,” Castiel interrupted. He huffed, and Dean caught sight of the boy’s expression when he glanced over for a second. He was looking at Dean with his head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowed in what could have been concern, if Dean cared to analyse it. “You need the help, Dean. And Sam is going to have assignments and exams to study for. He can’t do that and look after Adam at the same time, he won’t pass school. I like looking after Adam. I like cooking. I like cleaning. I like helping. So… let me help.”

It was silent again after that, Dean too stunned to speak, not wanting to argue and make Castiel feel bad. He was just trying to help, like he said. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he turned onto Castiel’s street. Castiel was right – he needed the help. He’d be stupid to turn it down.

He parked on the side of the street, turning to look at the boy who was still wearing that worried expression on his face. Dean let out a soft laugh, dropping his gaze to the seat between them for a minute before peering back up at Castiel with a smile. Why did he have to look so cute all the time? Even with such a vexed expression, he was adorable. Cheeks rosy from the cold, rugged up in that God-awful sweater and frowning at Dean like he was scared Dean was going to do something really, really stupid. Which was entirely possible.

“Alright,” he said after a pause, looking at Castiel seriously and shaking off his previous thoughts. “You keep doin’ what you’re doin’. Walk over in the mornings, I’ll drive you home after dinner, no ‘buts’. If it gets too much, let me know and I’ll work something out. Bobby’s giving me Sundays off because he won’t let me work any more than six days in a row so I don’t need you on Sundays.  Any questions?”

Castiel pondered for a minute and Dean found himself melting all over again. His frown was different now – pensive rather than fretful – and Dean actually had to look away in fear of doing that really, really stupid thing.

“No, I think that’s fine,” Castiel decided after a moment, and Dean smiled at him – mouth closed, more a nervous grimace than a smile – before clearing his throat.

“Awesome,” he finally said, voice a bit more forced than he’d intended. “I’ll see ya tomorrow night, then.”

Castiel grinned back as he got out of the car, leaning over to peer inside and wave at Dean before closing the door. Dean waited until Castiel was inside his own house before he drove off, ignoring the bereft feeling in his gut as he drove away from Castiel.

Dean wondered what his father would have said, had he lived to see the way Dean looked at Castiel – like the boy was an angel. Dean knew John wouldn’t have condoned it. ‘I didn’t raise my boys to be sissies,’ he’d say, or something similarly hateful. Dean couldn’t bring himself to blame him; it was just that generation. Even so, he hoped his mother would have been more open-minded.

_It doesn’t matter,_ he told himself as he pulled into the driveway. _I’m not gay._ He didn’t know what he was, whether his crush on Castiel made him any different or if it was just a one-time thing. He was under a lot of stress lately. Maybe his head just wasn’t clear enough.

Maybe he made a mistake. Maybe Castiel shouldn’t be around.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry that took so long, guys! I know I've said it before, but I will say it again - I really wanna get these out faster! Thank you so much for your patience. Remember, feedback is more than welcome, and enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for the wait, guys! I can give you all the excuses in the world, but honestly, I've just been focussing on school and my mental health. I have a break from now til March, so hopefully I can do more! Thank you so much for your patience! 
> 
> [previously in chapter]  
> Okay guys, I know it's been like ten million years since my last update, but truth is, I am lacking the motivation. I just started uni up again (after two failed attempts) and I honestly just don't know how I'm gonna write this story without some kind of angst.  
> SO I want your opinions!  
> What do you think I can do to make this a) more interesting; b) more fun for me to write; c) something that YOU want to read!  
> Just as a note, this WILL have a happy ending, so any angst that you guys suggest or that I come up with will be resolved at some point or another.  
> Let me know! Much love xx

On Christmas Eve, Singer Salvage Yard is snowed in.

Bobby claimed he wasn’t going to open for business anyway, but he still grumbled about it over the phone to Dean. It would have been nice to have the extra cash, but Dean conceded that he should spend this time with his family. It was the first holiday without their father, after all.

Still, Dean was pretty bummed that Castiel couldn’t come over, even if he told himself it was just because Sam and Adam would want to see him. He’d invited the babysitter over for Christmas Dinner, but Castiel had gone all quiet and looked out the window of the Impala, mumbling something about his brothers visiting and his father being very traditional. Dean let it go, but told Castiel he could show up whenever he wanted to.

Christmas Eve had always been a family affair, but with Bobby’s recent marriage and John’s death, the Winchester boys were left to celebrate alone. Not that they seemed in the mood for celebrating. As much as Dean tried to push a game of Twister or Black Jack, Adam and Sam just sat forlornly in the living room.

“C’mon, guys,” Dean said for what felt like the hundredth time. “It’ Christmas! There’s still a bunch of dinner left over and I’m drinkin’ the eggnog on my own here.”

“It’s not Christmas,” came a dull voice from under a mop of brown hair. “ _Tomorrow’s_ Christmas, jerk. It’s Christmas _Eve,_ and no one cares.”

Dean sighed and sat down on the arm of the sofa where Sam was perched, reading a great big thick book about Ancient Egypt. He had a perpetual scowl on his serious face these days, eyes dark and brooding.

“Adam cares,” Dean mused, nudging Sam’s side with his elbow and fixing Adam with a meaningful look. The four year old just slumped his shoulders, letting his tower of Legos fall to the stained carpet. He stared down at the mess, tiny shoulders trembling visibly, and Dean was immediately concerned. “What is it, buddy?” he asked leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

Adam looked up at his eldest brother, blue eyes watering, cheeks turning pink, and lower lip jutting out sadly.

“I miss daddy,” he suddenly wailed, screwing up his little face. His sobs wracked his little body violently, fists clenched in his lap and face tilted up toward the ceiling. It was the first time Dean had heard either of them bring up John’s absence, and it honestly broke his heart. He glanced at Sam and saw the teen was still staring resolutely at his book, though he hadn’t turned the page in quite some time. Dean glimpsed red cheeks and a wet tear track, and knew that he felt the same way.

Dean hurried over to Adam and hoisted him up into his arms, all the while murmuring, “shh, shh, it’s okay,” before returning to his seat beside Sam. He took the boy’s book and set it aside, pulling him into a hug with Adam between them.

“I miss dad, too,” he said quietly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Adam continued to howl against Dean’s chest, making Dean’s heart ache with the need to fix it, to fix everything. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Adam’s hair, his own tears wetting his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Adam… I’m sorry, Sammy… I wish I could bring him back.”

Christmas Eve in the Winchester household was spent cuddled up on the sofa, crying into each other’s hair until Adam finally sobbed himself to sleep. Dean carried him upstairs and into his bedroom, making sure he had socks on his feet and the window was shut tight before he slipped out into the hallway, where he encountered Sam. The teen was blushing, frowning at his feet and fiddling with his hands.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asked quietly, leading him away from Adam’s room. Sam gulped and licked his lips, looking up at his older brother with wide, wet, hazel eyes.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he asked quietly, his blush darkening. Dean knew embarrassment when he saw it. Sam was sixteen; far too old, he thought, to be asking for comfort in such a way. If anything, Adam was the one who should be in this position, standing in front of Dean, eyes wide and pleading as he sucked on his thumb.

“We won’t both fit on the couch, kiddo,” Dean said sympathetically, ruffling Sam’s hair. “I can come sleep on the floor in your room, if it’d make you feel better.”

Sam frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Why have you been sleeping on the couch?” he asked slowly, as if he was afraid Dean wouldn’t understand the question. “Dad’s bed is still there… The couch is definitely not comfortable…”

It was Dean’s turn to blush this time, shame settling in his gut like a rock.

“It… doesn’t feel right,” he finally muttered. “Too many memories of Dad… Kate… Mom…”

Sam rolled his eyes and took Dean by the wrist, dragging him down the hall toward the master bedroom.  

“You’re an idiot,” Sam accused as he flipped on the light in the bedroom. “You’ve been working twelve hour days for six days a week and haven’t been sleeping in a _bed_?”

He went straight to the bed and stripped the sheets, making dust fly around the room and causing Dean to sneeze.

“Go and get the clean sheets from the closet,” Sam ordered, and Dean was stunned by how grown up his baby brother was becoming. “We’ll sort the rest of dad’s crap tomorrow, but right now, you need a proper night’s sleep.”  

Dean was a little overwhelmed by the time they got the bed made, and he pulled Sam into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” he whispered to his brother, hoping that he didn’t have to clarify what for.

Sam just grinned and squeezed tighter around Dean’s middle.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I was gonna upload this chapter around Christmas. It is now February. *facepalm*  
> Thank you to everyone for your encouragement and patience! I have a lot of love for this fic, and the only reason it's taking so long is because I want it to be GOOD! So thank you again, I hope not to disappoint! <3

Dean awoke on Christmas morning staring at the back of Sam’s head, none of his muscles strained and feeling well-rested for the first time since he moved back home. A little hand was punching him in the spine, however, and he rolled over to see Adam, bright eyed and excited, standing by the side of the bed. 

“Hey, buddy,” Dean greeted groggily, sitting up and lifting his baby brother into bed. “Why are you up so early, huh?” He tickled Adam’s sides, making him squeal with laughter. He was in a much better mood than he was the night before, and Dean hoped the upset was forgotten. 

“Santa came!” Adam giggled, shying away from Dean’s hands. Not that he needed to – those words made Dean pause, a soft frown of confusion gracing his features. 

“Say again, kiddo?” he prompted. 

“Santa left presents!” Adam repeated. “Can we open ‘em? Please, Dean?” 

“Impossible,” Dean breathed, glancing over to Sam, who had woken up when Adam started screaming about Santa and looked just as confused as Dean. 

They hadn’t been able to afford gifts this year. There were a total of two under the tree, the only things Dean had been able to afford with the spare twenty bucks he had after paying their bills. He assumed Adam hadn’t actually seen the tree, and his stomach plummeted when he thought about how he would have to explain that no, Santa didn’t come this year. 

“Yeah, buddy,” he said anyway, dejectedly placing Adam down to watch him run off toward the living room. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking over at Sam apologetically. 

“Better go and face the music,” Sam grumbled, slipping out of bed and following Adam out into the hall. 

Dean huffed another sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of something, anything, to tell his brother as an excuse. 

“Dean, get out here!” came Sam’s frantic voice, making Dean flinch. Dread filled him to his core and he leaped out of bed, rushing into the living room to find-. 

“What the fuck?”

Mountains of brightly coloured boxes filled the room, extending out past the usual radius of the tree and choking the living space with glitter. 

“I told you so!”

Dean peeked behind a giant box in the middle of the room to find Adam, covered in bright green wrapping paper and clutching a Tonka truck in his little hands. Dean blinked – once, twice – and rubbed his eyes. He had to be dreaming. 

“Cool!”

Dean whipped around to see Sam, brightest smile on his face, flipping through a paperback. 

“I’ve been wanting to read this one!” Sam exclaimed, gazing up at Dean as if he’d hung the moon. “Thanks, Dean!” 

Dean was at a loss. 

He nodded and smiled at Sam before leaving the room, snatching up his phone to call the one person he knew could have done this. 

“This better be good,” Bobby grumbled when he answered the phone, voice thick with sleep. 

“Bobby, I dunno how I’m gonna repay you but thank you, thank you, man,” Dean gushed, his entire body trembling. “Seriously, Sam and Adam are over the moon, thank you so- ”

“Hold on now,” Bobby interrupted, and Dean immediately shut up. “What in God’s name are you on about, boy?” 

Dean laughed and shook his head – trust the old coot to avoid thanks. 

“The gifts, Bobby!” Dean enthused. “I thought I was gonna have to tell Adam I couldn’t afford anything, but man, you really saved Christmas!”

Bobby was silent, and Dean started to worry that he may have accidentally hung up on him. Then the old man sighed, and Dean’s heart plummeted. 

“I didn’t do shit, Dean,” Bobby explained carefully. “Whatever’s goin’ on over there, it ain’t me. I got your gifts here for when ya come to Christmas dinner tonight.”

Dean scowled at the floor for a long minute, trying to rationalise what had happened. No one could have broken in, he would have heard them. Well, maybe not since Sam convinced him to finally sleep in the bedroom rather than the living room. And who breaks in and doesn’t steal anything? In fact, they left gifts and then just – 

“Cas,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes. Bobby chuckled on the other end of the phone. 

“Sounds like you need to hang up now, kid,” he said, and Dean could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Yeah, yeah, hang onto your panties, grandpa,” Dean scoffed. “I’ll see ya tonight.” 

They hung up and Dean was immediately dialling the phone number Castiel had given him for emergencies... then he remembered it was Christmas Day. He hung up before Cas could answer and chewed on his thumb. 

“Dean, there’s one here for you!” Sam called, and that did something to his insides. 

Cas left him a gift? Because there was no doubt in his mind now that it was Cas. Bobby wouldn’t lie about this shit, and Cas was the only other person who had a key. He understood why Cas would leave gifts for Sam and Adam – they were the kids he babysat – but Dean… he didn’t do shit. He didn’t even pay Cas for his time. 

Dean found himself drifting into the living room, feet moving of his own accord, and as soon as he was sat on the couch, a perfectly wrapped, medium sized, rectangular box was pressed into his hands. He almost didn’t want to open it, it was so pristine. Curiosity got the better of him, however, and he was very carefully pulling the tacked down edges up and sliding the box out of the paper. 

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Jesus, Dean, just rip it! You sap.” 

Dean ignored what those words could mean, even if he couldn’t hide his blush, and finally opened the lid of the box. Knitted maroon fabric was folded perfectly at the top of the box, hiding something weirdly misshapen underneath. Removing the sweater revealed a picture frame, and Dean felt his throat close up. The frame held a new photograph, clean and clear, the image crisp. Adam was sat up on Santa’s lap, grinning wide, Sam standing on the other side and keeping up appearances for Adam. What got Dean was seeing Castiel in the picture, wearing a dark grey sweater and standing behind Adam. He had an uncomfortably shy smile on his face, as if he’d been encouraged to join the photo, and it made Dean chuckle. 

“Dean, what the hell,” Sam nudged him with an elbow. “Are you… crying?”

Dean lifted a hand to his cheek and felt the tell-tale wetness, cursing under his breath. 

“Everyone, in the car,” he said suddenly, sniffing. “We’re going to visit Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> I got permission to write this like a hundred years ago, but I was going through some stuff and I couldn't even write at that point. That being said, updates will be sporadic because I don't have internet at my house and writing is hard, guys! Please hang in there, though. I know this one will be a lot of fun to write and I am looking forward to it! <3
> 
> (ps - tags subject to change)  
> (pps - title credit to Kahlia)


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